


Various Storms and Spirits

by fivehorizons



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Supernatural Elements, Getting Together, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Rating May Change, Slow Burn, Time Skips
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-20
Updated: 2016-12-20
Packaged: 2018-09-10 18:02:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,605
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8926837
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fivehorizons/pseuds/fivehorizons
Summary: The door is closed, the window locked and sealed, but the man has simply vanished, the only mark of his existence being the quickly melting snow in Yuuri’s room and the vivid memory of him. A memory of ice and strength and comfort. A memory of winter, clear enough to last the rest of the year.It is the first time Yuuri meets the nameless spirit of winter.It is not the last.-It is forbidden for a human to fall in love with a spirit, a supernatural force of nature aligned with an individual season.But for the first time in his life, Yuuri Katsuki finds himself breaking all the rules to follow his heart straight to the spirit of winter, Victor Nikiforov. But, like the season, will their love be temporary or something strong to fight against all the other forces of nature?-





	

**Author's Note:**

> tw: emotional numbness, panic attacks, physical/emotional duress   
> (not sure of all these are applicable but I'd rather be safe than sorry)

_It comes back to me like this…_

 

Yuuri Katsuki knows the ice is melting long before he’s dragged under.

The frost tickles the bare skin at the back of his neck, forced in the open only by his awkward position. When he first sprawled his body across the center of the frozen pond, his scarf snared on the rough layer of ice, inching up the thick fabric just enough to reveal a sliver of his milky skin to the winter’s cold.

But he doesn’t mind. In fact, he savors the rush of sensations that spark across his body, all because of the very few exposed spots that peak from his otherwise heavily clothed figure.

A winter’s gale reaches across his face, cold fingers etching the shape of his chapped lips, his pink cheeks, settling only when they curl around his neck with an icy rush down his spine. The seam of his eyes seems to flutter with the next wind, drawing a prickling dampness that he too late recognizes as tears as they trickle down his cheeks.

Quieter than the howling wind that cuts across the pond to shear the tips of the surrounding evergreens is the spindling cracks that spread beneath him. Thin fractures crawl their way across the pond, reaching further with every minute Yuuri spends atop the frozen pond.

Though there is one day left of winter, one day before spring officially arrives, the pond is already melting. Soon, very soon, the ice will break.

Yet Yuuri does not want to move from his spot at the heart of it all. He’s comfortable here at the center of winter’s decay, and he isn’t afraid. He sees no point in being afraid.

He tilts his head back, scraping his skull against the thinning frost. The sun burns above him, its heat distant but stronger than it has been since winter took its claim. It’s the return of such a sun that is bringing the frozen pond to ruins. The rays that seem to not sink under Yuuri’s clothes are thawing the layers of ice to the point of utter destruction.

Yuuri knows what will happen if the ice breaks while he’s still on it. He’s heard the awful stories from neighbors and his family, of hypothermia and drowning. But he still can’t find it in himself to get up from the pond and wander back to the safety of his home, where there is a fire and hot chocolate and fresh katsudon.

Yuuri Katsuki does not want to die. Not truly. But he isn’t sure how much effort he wants to put into living either.

So he just lays still, freezing and feeling the deepening fractures, each of them vibrating inside his ribs and upsetting the steady beat of his heart. He stays there and loses all track of time, even with the sun moving above him.

He knows what’s coming for him when he hears a crack louder than the wind, louder than a clapping thunderhead. He knows what’s coming, but he is no way prepared for it.

The initial crack that sends the hair at the back of his neck into a stand is just the beginning. Then comes a shatter, and suddenly the ice at Yuuri’s back is no longer there.

He’s plunged into the pond, and the shout that builds in his lungs is choked off as the water rushes into his throat like icicles scratching their way down. The freezing temperature of the water is cold enough to numb his skin, but it also finetunes all his nerves so they are hyperactive to the excruciating pain that jars his mind from the muddled thoughts that worried at his consciousness ever since finding his place at the pond. The serenity that encompassed him ten seconds ago lingers long enough to keep his body still despite the aching agony that wraps around his coiled muscles and paling skin.

He freezes, and he burns, and he tries to scream, and he slips deeper and deeper into the pond.

Then the thought hits him, as shocking as his first contact with the ice water.

_I want to live._

The desire seizes him in an instant, burning a fire through his numb limbs and willing them to move against the rigid cold that creeps over his muscles, his bones, his entire body.

The ice leeches out all the warmth from his body. It takes away the very memory of it. His bones are blocks of ice, and he has no control over them. Though he can see the shadow of the sun glaring through the deep blue veil above him, he cannot swim for it. He can barely hold up his hands, fingers clawing for the touch of the sun’s rays, a taste of air to replace the frozen liquid in his lungs.

He hears his heartbeat as it grows ever fainter echo in the stagnant water around him. He stops struggling. His body can’t move. His mind is just as paralyzed. Only a flicker of his consciousness remains, desperately holding onto that peak of the sun, now more like a stray smudge in a night sky as Yuuri sinks to the pitch-black bottom of the pond.

That last semblance of life begins to flicker out, and the darkness closes around him in a complete blanket that offers a chance of warmth and freedom. Maybe death would be welcoming after all.

But Yuuri is yanked back from death’s waiting arms, the hope of warmth gone as he is tugged and dragged and heaved back into the abyss of ice and darkness by a different pair of arms. Strong, unforgiving, Yuuri struggles and burns but cannot escape from them.

Until he is thrown onto a solid surface, the icy water in his lungs suddenly snaking its way out as he leans over and retches. It goes on and on until Yuuri is sure he has lost far more than frigid pond murk. His stomach begins to cramp, though it is only one more part of him that flares with electric pain.

But pain means that he’s alive. Which doesn’t make sense. Because how on earth did he survive?

A cold hand touches his throat, and Yuuri’s eyes snap open.

Immediately he is engulfed by a tight embrace, his face lost in a warm of puffer jacket that is not his own.

“Are you insane?” a soft voice cries into his neck. The words are like a flurry of snowflakes passing over Yuuri’s skin, and he shivers.

He pulls away from the person wrapped around him, blinking out the beads of water that cling to his lashes. It ends up not helping his vision at all. The ice water has eaten away at his senses. All he can see of the other person is a blur of light, washed out colors, haphazardly constructed into a long, lean body.

The muscles in Yuuri’s lips have not fully recovered, and he stumbles over his words. “W-w-who—”

A gloved finger presses against Yuri’s mouth, silencing him. The fabric of the glove is not thick enough to contain the cold that radiates off the finger.

“Close your eyes,” the voice orders. “I’ll find somewhere to get you warm again.”

Yuuri’s hearing is better than his sight, and he picks up the masculine timber to the voice. Weaved in, though, is a singsong ring that is pleasant despite the aching cold surrounding Yuuri.

He finds himself listening to the man, and when Yuuri’s eyes close, he is submerged into a familiar kind of darkness.

 

He wakes in a cocoon of warmth. The entire collection of his family’s fuzzy blankets is wrapped around his body, and he has been stripped of his soaking clothes. In their place are sweatpants and a flannel, the buttons closest to his heart left undone. The familiar dips in the mattress under him marks it as his own bed.

He is warm, yet he finds himself clawing for the memory of the ice water and the painful cold. He tries to remember the arms of death, just before they were replaced by another pair. _Was that real_?

The panic of it being just a horrible nightmare forces his body upright.

But a hand is quickly on his chest, and a wave of cold passes through the blankets. The touch of cold sparks the rest of it, or at least the memory of it. He begins shaking, imagining that instead of blankets, he’s covered in the heavy water of a frozen pond.

Yuuri, trembling despite the warm blankets draped around him, is pushed back down as a voice coos, “Stay there. Stay there. Don’t move too much.”

That voice. It’s the same one from before.

 Yuuri’s eyesight has recovered enough for him to make out hazy lines and shapes from the figure hovering beside him. Nothing is wholly clear—he doesn’t know if it will ever be again—but he can see the face in front of him. He can see its beauty.

Hair pale as snow falls over half the man’s face, the rest cascading down his back in loose ripples. His unblemished ivory skin practically flickers from the firelight burning behind him, so very alive and delicate. There is a gentleness in his long, slender hands, outstretched towards Yuuri, a softness in the webbing of bright blue veins twisting over his inner wrists like vines.

But most startling is the man’s eyes, a sharp, crystalline blue, like the thin film of ice that held up Yuuri’s body on the pond. In those brilliant irises, Yuuri can almost make out his own eyes, widening in shock at the sight of such a beautiful man.

Yuuri is finally able to get out the question, shaped around a hushed gasp. “Who are you?”

“Why did you let yourself fall in?”

“You saw me fall?”

“Why?” the man asked again, a near desperate plea.

Realization sets in, and Yuuri no longer keeps up this confusing dance of questions left unanswered. “ _You_ saved me.” It is a statement, holding little room for arguments or deflection. Because it’s the truth.

The man swallows. “You were going to die.”

“How did you…” Yuuri trails off, remembering the arms yanking him away from death and pulling him out of the icy darkness. No one could be able to do that. Not with how freezing the water was, not with how deep Yuuri sunk.

The man doesn’t let him finish. He summons himself to a stand, revealing his full height that towers over Yuuri. The man looks simply immaculate in his stark white clothes, traced over with ice blue thread at the cuffs.

“I’m not supposed to be here,” says the man.

“Who are you?”

“I have to go.”

Yuuri grabs his wrists. The skin is cold to the touch, like a winter’s gale sinking into his skin, but he doesn’t let go.

His body is still weak from the drowning experience, and he knows the man can easily pull himself loose and walk out the door.

But he doesn’t. He goes eerily still as Yuuri shifts his grip, pulling the man back towards him.

“Who are you?” It’s a demand now. Yuuri has never spoken with so much authority in his voice. Then again, near-death experiences may hold the power to change him. For better, for worse, it’s too early to figure out.

“Someone who can’t stay.”

“I want more than that. You saved my life.” Something about those words catches Yuuri off guard, and he chokes off, suddenly aware of how close to death he had been. He’s only twelve. He has so much life left in him, yet he almost threw it away. Not actively, but through his own carelessness, his own numbness.

The man watches in horror as tears fall down Yuuri’s cheek.

He gently struggles against Yuuri’s grip. “Are you—”

“Who are you?” Yuuri sniffs. “ _Please_.”

Whether it’s Yuuri’s broken voice or his rolling tears, the man wears down, and he sits himself back down on the bed.

“You won’t believe me,” he begins.

“Please,” Yuuri repeats.

The man needs no greater motivation, and he is finally prompted to answer. “I’m winter.”

All Yuuri feels is a rush of confusion. “What?”

“The seasons…they have…” The man struggles to find an explanation. In his search for words, he flips back his hair, the long strands covering one eye shaking back. With both eyes on Yuuri, the man continues. “The seasons change in two ways. Naturally and supernaturally. I’m part of the supernatural, a spirit of winter.”

“Spirit of winter,” Yuuri echoes hollowly.

“Yes,” the man says with a nod. “I help the seasons change. In the beginning, I bring the snow and ice. In the end, I melt it away.”

The end, which is today.

Yuuri cringes inwardly at the memory of the ice breaking under him. He finds himself holding onto the ice blue eyes of the man and says, “That’s hard to believe.”

“I told you so.”

“I said,” Yuuri goes on, almost smiling, “that it’s hard to believe. Not impossible.”

A smile ghosts itself at the corner of the man lips, but then it’s gone, and Yuuri is no more sure if that second-long smile was real like the man’s story.

“Prove it,” Yuuri orders.

The smile is truly gone now. “I can’t.”

“Then you’re lying.”

“I’m not—” the man huffs. “I have to go.”

He gets up again, and Yuuri doesn’t try to reach for him. Not with his body.

“Show me,” he calls to the man as he moves for the door in Yuuri’s bedroom. “I want to believe.”

The man pauses at the door, shoulders sagging. “Only if you promise not to get yourself killed.” He half turns, giving Yuuri only a glimpse of his face. There is something sad in his eyes. “I won’t be around to save you during the other seasons.”

“But you’ll be here every winter?”

“Promise me,” the man says instead of answering.

“I promise,” Yuuri swears.

The man sighs, equal parts frustration and relief, and now he fully faces Yuuri. The distance and Yuuri’s poor sight makes him a snowy apparition, but he watches as the man spreads his hands in front of him, almost as if he’s about to beg forgiveness for his lie.

But the man doesn’t speak. He simply curls his fingers towards his palms, the tips resting on the etching curve of his heartlines. He leaves them there, unmoving, but a swirling wind carries through the room though Yuuri’s window and door are closed.  

With the wind that upsets the mountain of blankets on top of Yuuri are white specks, like ash or lint. It isn’t until a swarm of the tiny balls grazes his cheeks that he realizes it’s snow.

It’s the last day of winter and it is snowing in Yuuri Katsuki’s room.

A laugh bubbles out of Yuuri as he watches the snow fall in a slow pattern, bare sprinkles clumping on the ground. Another gust of wind, this one more powerful than the previous one, twists the snow around Yuuri, almost like a cold hug.

“This is—” Yuuri breaks off as he looks to the man.

The door is closed, the window locked and sealed, but the man has simply vanished, the only mark of his existence being the quickly melting snow in Yuuri’s room and the vivid memory of him. A memory of ice and strength and comfort. A memory of winter, clear enough to last the rest of the year. 

It is the first time Yuuri meets the nameless spirit of winter.

It is not the last.

**Author's Note:**

> title comes in part from Florence and the Machine's 'Various Storms and Saints', a key song for this work's playlist
> 
> thanks for reading! hope you stick with me through this endeavor :-)


End file.
